Which is a shame really, and probably quite unreasonable if not hopelessly prejudiced. I don’t, for example, see Ted Hughes that way. But then, look what happened to Sylvia Plath. And Dylan Thomas seems to have been my kind of bloke, even though I don’t understand a bloody word of what he wrote (except the easy bits.)
Maybe I’ll write a poem one day. It would be nice to exchange words with life. But there’s the rub, you see. Life has never written a poem about me, so why should I write a poem about life?
6 comments:
What about guys like Jack Karouac? He's not really the frilly type. Ego, though... i don't know.
There was definitely something off about Ted Hughes. First Sylvia and then, don't forget the woman he left her for... she killed herself and their daughter!
Kerouac* had to look it up :o)
Speaking of last names it sort of on odd coincidence that my word verification for this comment is haines.
I think my perception of poets is probably hopelessly limited, Andrea. Blame my industrial, working class northern upbringing.
Odd you should mention haines. My post about balmy twilights mentioned a couple of characters called Slim and Bazzer. Bazzer's name was Barry Haines.
Oh, and must find out more about Ted Hughes.
I'd count your ditties as poems...
That's because you're an extra nice lady.
Post a Comment